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Monday, 5 March 2012

Andre Villas Boas

Well, he's finally been sacked, so let's take some time to look at what a colossal douchebag Andre Villas Boas truly was at Chelsea.

If you read my column on excellent sports blog Dodgy Knees and Dirty Balls at the start of the season, you may remember that I had quite high hopes for AVB. I had no idea that rather than the Special One, we'd got ourselves a Special Needs One. I know that's quite a cheap shot, but seriously, while he managed to deliver the worst record since Glen Hoddle, he was also quite obviously trying to compete with Hoddle on the "being completely mental" front too.

It seems that prior to AVB getting fired, he was displaying some very odd behaviour. On Saturday night, prior to the "ludicrous display" against, oh, who was it, West Brom or somebody, somebody terrible anyway, AVB slept at the training ground in a "Japanese style pod". What the tits is a Japanese style pod, for a start? Is that just a way of trying to make the fact he was curled up in the foetal position, rocking inside one of those little tents you see those guys who hate their families hiding out in on riverbanks, ostensibly fishing, sound glamorous? Did he have anyone there to protect him from the countless people who undoubtedly wanted to rape him like he raped our team? Because if I'd known about it, I'd have been first in line with the piece of rusty lead pipe.

He'd also become obsessed with what time the players turned up for training. This is the classic behaviour of a boss in trouble. If you don't know what you're doing, one way to look like you're in control is to start getting really anal about that sort of shit. "Oh yeah, I can't make a 4-3-3 work, but I can make Ashley Cole pull the Nokia out of his ass and get to work five minutes early. I'm good."

He would watch out of the window of his office, making a note of what time everyone showed up. He was the first to arrive and the last to leave, working at least 12 hours, every single day. Seriously, would you be spending that much time away from your wife if John Terry was in the vicinity? I don't actually know if he has a wife, but still, if he does, I bet he can't satisfy her sexually. Sorry, another cheap shot. I am very, very angry with him.

The stress wasn't just taking its toll on him mentally. The last person I remember aging as quickly as Andre Villas Boas apparently was had been poisoned with polonium, and I know Abramovich probably has the contacts but I don't think he'd go that far. The person before that was Tony Blair. Thinking about it, Tony Blair was the AVB of politics. Young, initially popular, turned out to be shit and ruined everything...

There were other things that were annoying about him. The way sports announcers couldn't say his name without sounding drunk. That stupid fucking coat. But the worst thing, even worse than trying to play tactics that quite blatantly were never going to work with the players he had, was how much of a dick he was to the players. Apparently when Anelka and Alex were on their way out, he wouldn't let them in the first team facilities, and Anelka wasn't even allowed to come to the annual team Christmas dinner. I know having a giant sulking Frenchman at the table doesn't really scream "festive fun", but the guy had been a huge part of the team and deserved better. I'd have given him the bloody leg if he'd wanted it.

Imagine it, all of the Chelsea squad sitting down for their Christmas din-dins together, with AVB at the head of the table, his paper hat askew, telling Bosingwa off for trying to play with his new Lego TARDIS playset at the table while Mereiles sharpens the knives he was given when he completed his training as a Spetznaz assassin (seriously, doesn't he look like some kind of soviet special forces guy?) ready to carve the bird, when little Juan Mata pipes up "Daddy, where's uncle Nicolas?". AVB launches a bowl of sprouts at little Juan Mata's head. "I will not have that name mentioned in this house!"... Fernando Torres begins to sob quietly, he can't bear to see his one true love little Juan Mata attacked in this way. Daniel Sturridge stares mutinously at AVB - he's missing the Eastenders Christmas special for this and he's not happy, and he's supposed to be meeting Gareth Bale on XBox Live for a game of Mortal Kombat in ten minutes, and he's just learnt Sonya Blade's fatality. Everyone sneaks a look at John Terry, wondering if he's going to do anything, but he's ignoring everyone, tapping away at his iPhone, texting Jose Mourinho - "CAN WE COME AND LIVE WITH YOU AND MUM? DAD'S DRINKING AGAIN." It's powerful fucking stuff, right?

Why did he show such a lack of respect for the senior players? Was he just confused? "If Drogba's too old, and I'm too young, how does that work?" he would mutter to himself, staring at the back pages of the Daily Mail in bewilderment.

Still, with AVB sacked, at least we can revive that old chant from the nineties, where you go "D. I. Matteo" to the tune of D.I.S.C.O. - that was always a good time. But after that, can we please, please just stop the silliness and reinstate Jose Mourinho? What the hell is this nonsense about fat Spanish hotel keyboard player Rafa Benitez in line for the job? There is only one man who can fill the hole and teach Fernando Torres to love again, and it's Jose. Abramovich - make it so.